


TWatP: Drabbles, Ficlets and Everything In-between

by W_H_4_T



Series: The Wolf and the Peacekeeper [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Qunari Elf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W_H_4_T/pseuds/W_H_4_T
Summary: Drabbles/Ficlet/Story bits stream to sleep/study to. Want some fluff and unrelated-ish scenarios? Look no further as they live here :)
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Josephine Montilyet/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Wolf and the Peacekeeper [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112504
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Just for the Day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unless you take a liking to her, of course. 
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

Everyone knew the Inquisitor was a damn Halla-kisser. 

Skyhold wasn’t a place for people alone; all forms of life flourished. From the plants to the small birds that hopped between the roofs, the Keep was part home, part animal pen. The Qunari elf, though surprisingly more hesitant to be around people, was always open to the fauna of the stronghold. Blackwall could easily fill an hour’s talk with all the times he’s seen the woman gibbering to her mount in a high-pitched voice, petting and hugging the docile beast. 

Residents took note of this unseen rule; do not harm the animals and you would not face the Inquisitor’s ire. 

Even so, there were times when the animals, albeit appreciated, were very much in the way. 

This is why Josephine heard the telltale high-speed clopping of the Qunari elf far before she saw her. Placing her hands down on various stacks of paper, Josephine waited as the door to her office was nearly kicked open, releasing a draft that would have totalled her documents. 

“JOSIE!” Harel exclaimed, her voice worried and high-strung, “I really, really need a favour.”

Raising her palms from her various sheaves of paper, Josephine brought her hands up to lace together, resting her chin atop her fingers. There was a look of minute exasperation coupled with intrigue; especially when her gaze shot to what was held in the plucky Inquisitor’s hands. 

A cat looking more akin to stretched and rolled out dough swung from grey hands, the feline’s arms resting on Harel’s fingers, its face was utterly content with closed eyes and a telltale purr. A beautiful steel grey, near bluish and white cat whose bright yellow eyes opened for a moment before blinking slowly and closing once again. 

“Cook says the kitchen’s off-limits to Blue today,” she says as she grows ever closer to the writing desk, the cat still stretched and unperturbed, “They’re really busy and she just needs somewhere safe to stay,” the elf stops in front the desk, her face worried, “I don’t want her wandering Skyhold, it’s really cold today and she only knows the Kitchen which, as I said, is off fuckin’ limits.” a pout, “Can she stay with you pleaaaase? Just for the day and then she’s gone.”

As a skilled diplomat, Josephine watched with a raised eyebrow as Harel stepped into her territory without any fear, a weak ability for bargaining as her sword and the cat as her shield. 

And so the dance began, one that she practised so often in that very office; the dance of negotiation. 

“Now Harel,” Josephine drawled, her eyes shining at the sight of the pouting elf, “I find your plea compelling, to say the least. It is, however,” she pauses to cross her arms, “emotionally driven and beneficial **solely** to you.”

The elf gulps as Blue kicks her legs, quietly meowing to be held properly to which Harel complies immediately, scooping up the pretty kitty to rest flat against her bundled arms. 

“Tell me, what are you willing to exchange in order for me to oversee this cat,” Josephine says with a contradictory smile; wicked yet ever so sweet.

Harel doesn’t answer at first as Blue takes to climbing her shoulders, padding up the Inquisitor’s arm and curling her belly around the back of her neck.

“I…” the Qunari starts, her hands gently holding the cat’s legs so she doesn’t tumble, “I can give my uh,” she blinks several times, her mind drawing far too many blanks, “my...undying love and devotion to the gorgeous, intelligent woman in front of me?”

The words elicit a small laugh from the Ambassador who uncrosses her arms, resting her elbow against the desk to lean her head into her open palm. Almost too quickly, Josephine takes up her dry quill to tap on one of the many papers resting on her desk.

“Several documents require your approval, signature and opinions,” Josephine looks up at Harel who only just realized-

“Oh fuck, **those**.” the Qunari squeaks, her eyes wide, the purring cat still completely unaware.

“Indeed, Inquisitor, _those_ ,” Josephine replied with a smirk as she gathers the documents before pushing them to the edge of her desk, “See to that and I _suppose_ I will watch this cat.”

Much like a scarf, Harel begins to unwind the feline from around her neck, pulling the cat off as Blue gives a drawn-out meow of disapproval that grows in volume as she’s lifted. 

“Have you ever had a pet?” Harel queries as she gestures for Josephine to take the cat, the diplomat’s expression mostly hesitant despite the agreement made, “Mythal, I forgot to ask if you’re even allergic!”

There’s a bit of confusion as Josephine tries to figure out where to hold the cat; by the middle? The top? Playing it safe, Josephine loosely holds near to where Harel’s hand’s are, her fingers brushing with grey ones.

“Mother had no love for animals so our home had no place for them,” Josephine said as she tightened her grip, “As for allergies,” she looks up into green eyes, “I suppose we will find out.”

“That’s a dangerous game to play, Lady Montilyet,” Harel says with cautious impishness as she relinquished the cat to her paramour’s care, “Next thing you know, we have to pump you full of Embrium because you can’t breathe,” the Qunari’s smile fades for a second, realizing what she just said, “Call for me if anything happens to either of you. Please.”

“Of course,” the Antivan replies as she stares into Blue’s big yellow eyes, “do let me know when you have completed those tasks.” 

Josephine brings Blue closer only to lose her grip as the cat wiggles, landing on her lap and almost immediately kneading the brocade of her dress.

“Someone likes you,” Harel quips, a grin stretching widely on her face. 

Blue settles after a while, stretching her body out till her legs touch the armrests then curling into a ball; her purring thunderous and endless. Harel swipes the documents, another pout settling on her face as she weighs the number of papers in her hands. 

“I feel like you got the better job,” the Qunari says with a flat expression.

Josephine quietly chuckles as she carefully passes a finger over Blue’s head before scratching the content feline’s chin.

“Consider this a lesson not to leave your written responsibilities till the last minute,” Josephine retorts with an upsetting amount of charming smugness.

The elf mocks her lover’s accent while staring her down, making movements to leave, the bundle in hand, her mood albeit relieved also somewhat soured. The diplomat watches the Inquisitor depart, her mocking taken in stride; the Inquisitor was an ass but a loveable one nonetheless.

The door rattles close as Josephine is left alone with Blue and the quiet crackling of the fire. She continues petting the cat, even as she feels a modicum of fear build in her body from the possibility of a severe allergic reaction. 

So far, so good though. 

Picking up her quill, Josephine returns her attention to the missive in front of her, dipping the nib into ink, focusing her thoughts on her work even as her mind occasionally found itself full of purring. 

* * *

After setting Blue up in a comfy spot the Qunari had far too many documents to deal with as well as other things. Varric needed her opinion on a Hard in Hightown cover which took much longer than expected as both choices looked pretty much the fucking same. After an impromptu game of Wicked Grace that featured Dorian for one of the rounds, they still hadn’t decided. 

With no end in sight to the deliberation, Harel bade the dwarf goodbye, unfinished documents in hand as she continued towards her Quarters; the only place she could find peace to do any form of writing.

That’s when she was stopped by the shy waving of a Clan elf standing near one of the common tables.

One of Bull’s kids, Dalish, hopped up to her, a bright smile on her face as she asked the Inquisitor to visit the tavern on Bull’s behest. When questioned why the big oaf didn’t get her himself, Dalish simply shrugged, replying with _Skinner beat me at arm wrestling and now I’m here._

Looking down at the documents, Harel made a small pinched expression before sighing, fully giving in to her temptation and following the elf back to the tavern. 

Bull gave a great roar as the Inquisitor walked through the entrance, the group following with a cheer as they raised their mugs to her. Harel had to make sure the papers didn’t touch anything that would dirty them; it was a tavern after all. 

Taking a seat, Harel quickly realized why she was invited, her expression once again becoming as flat as her ears. 

The Tal-Vashoth wanted to arm wrestle, a point that made Harel shoot a glance at Dalish who quickly pretended the ceiling consisted of fine literature. 

Placing the documents in a safe space on the table, Harel rolled up her sleeve before clapping her hand with the former spy; his biceps were bigger than her head and his digits easily dwarfed her biggest finger. He grinned knowing damn well he was going to win, something Harel knew too just by feeling the way his hand tensed.

Krem sidled up to the pair, commenting _picking fights with girls, Chief? Thought I raised you to be better than this_ before signalling for the match to start. Not even a second passed before green tendrils of magic weaved out of Harel’s shoulders, latching onto Bull’s arm and sending it flat against the table. 

“The **FUCK** ” the Ben-Hassrath growled as he shook his hand from the force.

“Look at me and look at fuckin’ you,” Harel accused, “I have to level the playing field somehow, you grey bastard.”

Nodding his head, Bull gave a barking laugh before smacking his good hand down on the table causing his huge tankard to jostle.

“Should have known you’d cheat, Boss,” the larger Qunari said, leaning into the horned elf’s personal space, “You would have made a good Ben-Hassrath with that brain of yours.”

Harel rolled her eyes as she readjusted her sleeve, once again hearing the recruitment banter from the former spy despite him being a _former_ spy. She briefly looked at the documents once again before she was caught off-guard. Skinner locked an arm around her shoulders.

“You are from a Dalish camp, non?” the intimidating city elf says into the Qunari’s ear, “Do you speak the language?” she shifts closer, “Can you teach me?”

No sense of respect for authority that one.

Though she was much bigger than Skinner, Harel always felt small compared to the elf simply due to the fact she was _fucking terrifying._

“You do realize it’s a whole fucking language you’re asking to learn,” Harel replies, her expression obviously uncomfortable which makes Bull laugh once again while gulping his drink; a cough tears out of him as the liquid goes the wrong way down. 

“It doesn’t have to be a great amount just a few words.” Skinner pleads, releasing her grip on the Qunari elf.

Harel looks at the Orlesian city elf with a mite of confusion till she sees Skinner glance at Dalish for just a moment.

Ah.

A knowing smile grows on the horned woman’s face as the realization was noted before she’s met with a cold, vicious look from Skinner that said _don’t you dare say a fucking word._

And not a fucking word more she said till Skinner regained her calm as her eyes flicked back to Dalish; the Clan elf was poking her mug of ale, playing with its gravity before accidentally tipping it over. A stream of mana caught the mug before it could spill, her eyes wide, Dirthamen Valaslin creased between her eyebrows before she righted the mug, looking away as if nothing happened. 

Polar opposites, brusque and flighty, distant and bubbly. 

Harel tried to hide her grin again as she listed a few conjugations to Skinner, the beginning of a small lesson to teach some small words.

* * *

Halfway done. Thank the fucking Maker she was halfway done. After finally returning to her Quarters to get started on those documents, Harel spent a good while signing, writing, making notes and pulling her hair in endless frustration. Time passed torturously slow but she had gotten enough work done to take a break without feeling too guilty. 

Now she stood outside the Ambassador’s office, her hand readied to knock on the door before deciding to just peek inside to check on the pair. So far, she hadn’t heard news regarding either Josephine or Blue. 

As the door creaked open, the horned elf realized why.

With her arms folded below her and a sleeping cat as her pillow, Josephine slept soundly as her face rested against Blue’s side, both parties completely dead to the world as they cuddled up together. One of the diplomat’s hands remained against Blue’s belly, their breathing slow and quiet. 

Harel had to clap her hands over her mouth so she didn’t shriek in pure delight at the adorable scene. Carefully, the Inquisitor stepped back, ensuring the door closed with a soft thump. She also had to try her best not to be too loud as she jogged to the opposite side of the Main Hall; Varric tried to hail her but she was too quick, jumping towards Solas’ door and yanking it open, galloping forward now that there was distance between her and the office.

“Spymistress!” Harel shouted into the rotunda, her eyes looking up and not at the bald elf painting the walls, “Leliana! Hey!!! I FOUND SOMETHING AMAZING!!!!”

Peering up, she brought a hand to shield her eyes from the light pouring from the Rookery’s ceiling before a familiar figure leaned over the railing, balancing their forearms on the wooden posts as they stared down at the Inquisitor.

“Get down here,” the Qunari said with a wide grin, her expression so excited that her body bounced in tandem, “I fucking **promise** it’s good.”

Leliana stared down at the Inquisitor, her expression blank, as she pushed herself off the railing, humouring the elf and her antics.

* * *

Leliana almost fucked everything up when they walked in, a loud cooing bursting from the Orlesian at the sight.

“Shhhh,” Harel hissed as the pair walked closer to the dreaming Ambassador. 

Both Blue and Josephine seemed to be sleeping heavily still as no movements had been made by either. 

“This is delightful,” Leliana whispered as she crossed her arms, looking over the napping duo, “Josie is always so serious with her work, so much so that I doubt she sleeps well,” Harel nodded in agreement to the Spymaster’s words, “This is just-”

A leather-gloved hand moves up to gesticulate at the scene before dropping back down in emphasis; a loss for words present. 

“This is fucking adorable,” Harel whispered back, her voice escalating from the excitement, “One day alone and she’s already best pals with Blueberry,” the smile has yet to fade.

The same gloved hand moves to the Inquisitor’s shoulder, as Leliana smiles back for once, “Thank you for coming to get me, Inquisitor.” 

Harel opens her mouth to reply but hears Josephine sigh, a sound that makes the Qunari and Orlesian back up just a little, breath held least they wake up the sleeping beauty.

“We should go,” Harel rushes, a sentiment which Leliana agrees to with a sharp nod, gathering herself up to quietly make her way out the room without clinking her chainmail cuirass too much. 

As the last one to leave, Harel pokes her head out from the door to look at the pair one last time, taking in the dancing firelight against the wall, the cozy nature of golden ruffles making a bed for Blue as Harel backed away.

Pulling in the door to close quietly once more, Josephine and Blue would remain sleeping for a good while longer till a messenger would come knocking, rousing the Ambassador quickly from her dreams with Blue still comfortably in her arms. 

* * *

She shouldn’t have thrown the pen so hard. What was supposed to be just a frustrated drop of the pen turned into the quill bouncing on its nib before jumping away from her desk. Rolling her eyes as the quill itself rolled, Harel passed a hand through her hair before scrubbing her nails against her horns.

Scooting out of her chair, Harel lumbered towards the pen, bending down to pick up the offending item with one smooth motion. 

Night had long since fallen on the Keep and the Inquisitor couldn’t fucking wait to put aside the mass of papers where she’d never see them again.

The sound of a door closing has the Qunari snapping back up, her fight or flight instinct active due to her constant existence in a battlefield. The pen is grasped in her hand, the nib facing forward to stab as Josephine ascends the stairs, at first content then confused.

“Were you going to stab us?” the Ambassador chuckles, Blue watches from her perch in Josephine’s arms, her tail twitching as she stares down the elf. 

“Ehhhmmm,” is all that flies out Harel’s mouth before she lowers her weapon, “How was your day?” her eyes never leave Blue as Josephine puts the cat down, dusting out her hands from cat hair. 

Blue walks quickly towards Harel before rubbing against her boots, bumping her head into the shoe tip before falling flat on her back to expose her belly. 

“It was intriguing,” came the Ambassador as she moved towards the Inquisitor, carefully stepping over Blue before reaching up to pull the Qunari’s face to her height.

Kissing her gently, Josephine brought Harel closer; grey arms rested on golden ruffled shoulders before moving to lace fingers in black, styled hair. 

An earsplitting yowl broke the two apart almost immediately as Blue pawed at Harel’s boot, upset at the lack of attention she was getting.

“You are a fucking monster,” Harel grumbled as she turned away from her paramour to bend down and scoop up the cat, “A problematic little scoundrel,” the elf held Blue on her back, exposing her belly once again, “but you’re _my_ problematic little scoundrel.”

A dusky hand reached out to hold a paw in-between her index finger and thumb, pressing the paw pads to release the claws.

“And mine as well,” Josephine murmured sweetly to the demonic little feline.

Blue didn’t know where the fuck she was, but she didn’t care so long as the tall one with horns and the nice-smelling small human kept petting her. 

* * *

Though the office was colder, she didn’t quite mind. Her door remained open which wasn’t a huge breach of privacy so long as the door to the Main Hall stayed closed. 

Josephine would scribble away some new letter, some new sheet or report or fantastically worded vow of social destruction until she’d hear a little meow from the stairs leading from the Vault room. 

Josephine would ensure her current letter was dry -last time it wasn’t there were inky paw prints everywhere- before moving from her seat to meet her new friend halfway. Blueberry would jog into the room before being graciously lifted by the graceful human, purring sounding vibrantly through the room. 

And Josephine would continue working as hard as usual while Blue continued her important job of snoozing. Sometimes a tawny hand would reach down and pat the feline’s head or Josephine would ask the cat a rhetorical question, bouncing ideas off the Blue, who more often than not, was licking her paw instead of paying attention. 

She’d only let Blue go when the cat retired to the Kitchen or a War Meeting was called with every return reuniting the pair.

Just one day soon turned into many days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a lovely commenter who's been with me since day 1 saying that sticking the drabbles at the end of the main work was a little confusing, I have changed it (and I honestly appreciate the feedback bc I don't know one fuck in regards to the formats of A03)  
> Nice, succinct, fun.
> 
> Forgive my scatterbrain and thanks, once again, for sticking around


	2. They Think I'm Boring...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but she calls me enchanting.
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

Josephine comes from a large family, her family tree spreading like a canopy over the Orlesian roots. There’s a bit of everything in her bloodline, Rivaini, Ferelden, Nevarran, even a touch of Seheron lineage from some near-forgotten affair somewhere along the line. The Montilyets, over the many, many years, have become primarily Antivan and with this relation, comes the culture.

Family is everything; blood is thicker than water.

* * *

She loves her family dearly, often recounting to Leliana and Cullen in their Interludes about Yvette’s current ambitions, Antoine’s passion for winemaking and Laurien’s incessant obsession with cartography. Josephine speaks of her parents with respect but there is clear favouritism in her words; a pure laugh when she speaks of her father and a reserved near-forced smile when she talks of her mother. 

When she doesn’t speak of her family, she eagerly chats with her colleagues regarding the latest in politics, gossip, fashion; the platform of nobility. He doesn’t mean it in disrespect, but Cullen always stifles a yawn at least thrice during their Interludes; his mind drifting as matters of nobility and status never will be his cup of tea. Leliana however, is all too happy to engage with Josephine, her work ethic admirable but a need to rest down her mantle every once in a while, a necessity. 

* * *

Josephine’s memory is impeccable, as is necessary for her line of work; she is blessed with this skill, total recall cobbled together from years of diplomatic work, though not perfect, was still greater than a majority of peers her age. From distant family related by marriage to her own siblings kept close under her wing, Josephine remembers everything about them, their likes, dislikes, dreams and fears. Conversations are easy, almost laughably so, and to weave the spinning thread of communication is as simple to her as drawing breath.

All of these details, every single one, she says without pause, without hesitation or the need to think of her next word. All said into white hair as she holds Harel close, their skin touching without the barriers of cloth, a sheet draped over them to dispel the cold.  
When the Herald can’t sleep, when she wakes in a frenzy from so many bad dreams or the Anchor sends agony into her bones, is when Josephine pulls the Qunari elf against her chest to listen. Though she is an avid patron of the arts, Josephine was no dramatist like Varric; she couldn’t recall stories with the same vibrance as the dwarf no matter her conviction. The only thing she could truly convey properly was the many facts she knew, all of which lived inside her mind with clarity.

All of which she could speak with ease, all of which was sure to put everyone but herself to sleep. 

The elf had said on many occasions how much she adored her accent, the way her voice strung like a harp, each tone a delicious chirp of words that sung in a way she can never find a comparison to.

_“Kost”_ Harel would say, using the first word that came to mind, _“Your accent is like that. I can’t call it anything else.”_

Josephine had replied amicably, as was expected of her though a touch of flattered embarrassment held heavy on her expression. The Antivan likened, quietly, that her topics were much less interesting, surely.

_“You make everything beautiful when you speak; absolutely enchanting,”_ the Qunari had responded with her eyes too tender, too affectionate, _“I love everything you say.”_

It was an immediate confession, so honest, so spur of the moment, so very _Harel._

It was that string of words that enforced Josephine’s decision to use her voice so often summoned to quell authorities, to lull her troubled paramour to sleep. 

The Antivan would take it upon herself, her dark hair tangled beneath her, a heavy grey body above her, slow breathing matching each other’s as elegant fingers would pass up and down the mage’s back, moving through the dip of her spine, lingering over every scar, moving up and up till she scraped the black bones of her horns; an act which would have the Qunari almost purring.

Josephine would talk at her, slowly, as she learned from Harel herself, a storyteller in her own ways. Information repeating in the darkness of their quarters, words not to inform, but to calm. 

Only when the diplomat would feel the tension of lithe muscles release would she stop speaking. Even so, sleep would not come to her, not yet, as she’d lay awake for a moment more, ensuring the tall elf was well and truly asleep before holding just a little tighter to the woman above her. 

And when the Qunari would wake again, from the green, searing crackle of the Anchor, Josephine would be ready to tell her life’s story once more. 

To Josephine, a born and bred Antivan, family is everything; blood is thicker than water.  
She loves her family dearly, but she loves Harel just as much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you, thanks for reading <3
> 
> Translation from Qunlat:  
> Kost- Peace


	3. Her Hand in Combat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was what she wanted; be careful what you wish for.
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

The soldiers rose at dawn every day for training. Steel against steel was the main noise in the outer walls of Skyhold, echoing through the snowy valley to prove habitation. Within Skyhold at dawn was much quieter, more residential. Most people rose with or near to the sunrise in the Keep as the Inquisition never truly rested. 

There were the odd sounds of controlled battle; Cassandra battering her training dummies to splinters, Sera shooting an arrow into her door or just Blackwall sharpening his blades. 

Skyhold never truly rested. 

The day would pass as normal, with nothing of note with the energy of a room only spiking when the Inquisitor made herself known. As people slowly lost momentum as the day dragged on, the Inquisitor only shone brighter as the night grew closer. 

While soldiers trained with the sunrise, Harel prefered to limber up in the evening. 

It was normal for a small crowd to gather when the Qunari elf decided to practice her moves. What was less normal, however, was the person trailing behind her down the steps from the Main Hall. 

The horned woman slowed her speed as she lined herself up to lock an arm around the person’s shoulder, pulling them close while laughing some small joke. 

The crowd continued growing as the pair made their way to the large open space in front of the Prison as whispers and surprised looks drenched the Qunari and the person. 

Harel stood in the middle of the grounds spacing herself an arms-length apart from the person before beginning to explain things.

The whispers served to grow louder before they were hushed by the sound of a window slamming open, the glass nearly cracking from the force. Out popped a familiar blonde head that teetered dangerously out of its hidey-hole before shouting loud enough to send Leliana’s birds scattering. 

“LOOKIN’ WELL FIT, JOSIE!!!” Sera bellowed far too loudly. 

A stifled chuckle escaped the Inquisitor who looked at the Ambassador with a delighted grin. 

Josephine stood facing Harel with her face mildly flushed knowing full well she was the reason why the crowd was bigger than usual. Dressed once again for utility, the Ambassador could have blended into the background in her leather hosen, boots, cloth shirt and hair pulled into a simple braid like Harel’s. 

_“Self-defence is important,” Harel said while passing her fingers through Josephine’s hair, “Which is why you’re going to beat me up today!”_

_Josephine stared at Harel from the mirror’s reflection, her expression pinched with hesitance, “Your mind once again goes towards violence,” a small sigh, “Must I wear...this though?” the Antivan pulled at the long cloth shirt which had to be fastened with a belt around her waist, “I will admit it is comfortable but the fabric is so...spacious.”_

_Finishing the braid with a piece of twine, Harel brought the line of hair to the back of Josephine’s neck before resting her head atop black, wavy hair._

_“That’s what the belt’s for, Kadan,” The Qunari says happily, “Plus you can’t wear a dress to train unless you’re Cassandra” a small smirk lit up the grey face, “I’m sure she can kick fucking **ass** no matter what she wears.” _

And so, the training began. 

Circling around Josephine, Harel helped her paramour to space out her legs into something more solid, a stance which had the Ambassador wobbling from side to side from a lack of balance. 

It was laughable, an emotion eagerly expressed by the city elf hanging halfway out her room’s window, only serving to make the diplomat less keen on this whole ‘self-defence’ lesson. 

“Legs apart,” Harel says, standing behind the Ambassador, “Apart,” she repeats as Josephine struggles again, “alright…”

The horned elf leans in, her body pressed against the Antivan to provide much-needed support, assisting the stance as best as she could. There was some whooping from the crowd, some soldiers approving of the scene before them, only to be viciously hushed by the nearby Seeker; glowering at the younger recruits for their disrespect. 

They clammed up faster than Cullen being asked about his hair. 

What was supposed to happen was Harel taking Josephine’s wrists in her hands, extending her arms and teaching her a simple punch. 

What instead happened was something that took everyone by surprise.

Josephine drove her elbow into Harel’s stomach as she quickly turned away, kicking the Qunari’s now unstable legs from under her. The Inquisitor fell without grace, curled up against the ground, coughing as she looked up at her beaming lover; framed gracefully by the sun as if she didn’t just give the horned elf a split-second beating.

“I apologize for the roughness, _amore_ ,” Josephine chirps, adjusting the belt on her waist, “But it appears I am not in need of training as you once thought,”

Harel tries to speak, through her pain and through Sera’s elated screaming but Josephine shushes her, kneeling to the fallen Qunari’s height to brush white hair back from wide green eyes.

Josephine takes the first word.

“I do not condone violence but I am, however, an advocate for self-safety,” the Antivan says as she removes her hand, standing up to tower over the Herald, “I do hope that session was enough to convince you that I can indeed care for myself, when necessary.”

There are no sounds but the loud cheer of the crowd, half in confusion, the other half in amazement.  
  


Josephine walks away, sauntering almost, towards the Main Hall so that she may divest herself of the horrid fashion. 

Harel is left on the ground, her stomach hurting as if she’ll throw up but her eyes full of stars and shock at the fucking _gall_ of that beautiful woman.

**“DOOOOOOOOGGGGPIIIILEEEEE!!!!”**

Before she can stop it, Sera initiates a Ferelden tradition, scrambling from the window to leap from the roof, her position sure to land square on the Inquisitor. 

Leliana’s birds scatter once again; a small wince from Josephine and the crowd is seen.  
Harel cries out in pain as Sera lands on the horned woman, beckoning Bull with high-pitched cackles to join in the fun. 


	4. If Being Annoying was a Specialization...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> then the Inquisitor would be an unmatched professional.
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

  
One would think that a world-shattering war would lessen the Inquisitor's spunk. Though she did occasionally fall into that pit, she would often scramble out with a smile.

Today, however, she had more than just a smile on her face. A big, stupid, dopey grin that blinded the advisors whenever she looked at the Ambassador from across the War Table.

Josephine with her social manoeuvring would look all too professional despite the foolish face the Qunari wore. The idiotic grin never faltered, even when she looked at Leliana who was testing out new and exciting death glances on the Inquisitor.

Nothing.

It appeared as though lovesick foolishness was a powerful enough shield to defend against the daggers cast at her. It took a while but one particular glare got through, finally snapping the idiot from her daze.

Leliana took note of how much anger she shone through her eyes to achieve that result.

The idiot took to looking over the markers to see what terrible, horrible happening found itself needing her attention.

Cullen, noticing his chance, took advantage of the new-found focus, "Have you found the Specialization trainers to be adequate, Inquisitor?"

Hearing her title, the Qunari looked up but not before placing her index finger on a map marker, "Oh, they’re brilliant! I’ve already started practising for the one I really, really want to do."

All three advisors silently prayed the plucky thing didn’t want to be a Necromancer, her reputation was infamous enough.

"Observe," the Herald said as she opened her palm over the marker.

Green wisps started forming over her hand and Cullen had to restrain his Templar mindset from leaping into action. The marker began to shake slightly before hurtling itself upwards into the elf’s palm.

Quite the interesting show followed as the marker was pointy-er than the Inquisitor expected, thus causing her to yelp in pain as the metal made contact. She curled forward groaning, raising her hand and shaking it to try and banish the stinging.

"Fade gravity!" she said through clenched teeth, before standing up straight, hand still open" I can pull and push things now. Next, we’re going to summon rocks...I think."

"So you are looking into that new practice," Leliana mused, "The Rift Mage, yes?"

Harel’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of her prospective speciality, "Yesyesyesyes!!!," she looked away as if revealing a secret, "a little dangerous since most of the people who studied it uh....exploded....but it’s SO AMAZING!!!"

At the word ‘explode’, Josephine cast a look of muted concern to her before Harel piped up again, "Have no fear, Your Trainer is there to make sure I won’t just turn into a delicious red paste. "a thought led to another thought, "If I were a paste, I’d probably be strawberry."

"Are you certain all aspects of this practice are safe?" the Ambassador replied to try and bring the elf back to reality; concern not well hidden at all.

An abashed smile from the Inquisitor, "Other than collecting wraith juice in a corpsy bog, I don’t think I’ll be turning to jam anytime soon." the elf begins to swirl little green wisps around her hand, "Your Trainer says I’ve got a good affinity with this style. I’ll be fine." she settles a doe-eyed stare to Josephine, "Plus I like the Fade. I like it a lot. I want to do this."

There’s far too much honesty in Harel’s voice which caused the Antivan to drop her questioning. The elf did indeed love the Fade an odd amount. To take that joy from her would be to crush her spirit entirely, even if her interests were more than a little dangerous.

Cutting off the wisps, Harel passed a hand through her hair before stopping mid-stroke.

Her eyes were fixed on the Ambassador yet again.

Was it stupid grinning time already?

Instead of a wide smile, there was an analytical look to her, green eyes darting over Josephine’s face.

"Is something the matter, Inquisitor?" the Antivan said, noticing how the Qunari began to step around the table towards her.

Closing the distance, the elf stalked right behind Josephine, eyes still querying as Cullen and Leliana looked at the show being put on.

Harel brought her hand up, eyes still looking over the diplomat’s hair as she fiddled with the pins holding the style straight.

"Harel-"was all Josephine could get out before she heard the sound of spellcasting and the telltale loosening of the pins.

The damn wolf was using her magic to undo her hair!

"Inquisitor!" the Ambassador chided.

Alas, the damage was already done.

As she turned to meet the foolish Qunari elf’s gaze, her black hair whipped around with her, tumbling forward and cloaking her shoulders.

Harel held up her palm, still writhing with magic, to show the pins floating in a green pool. A big, stupid grin back on her face as she looked at the mildly indignant diplomat.

The only part of the style that still held was her two braids, now falling to meet the rest of her unbound hair.

"Are you quite serious?!" Josephine quietly fumed, not willing to entertain Leliana anymore than she already was.

"Yes," was all that escaped the Qunari’s mouth, "You should wear your hair out more often," she brings the Ambassador into a hug, holding her tightly to her chest as she pocketed the pins, "I believe you told me that once. If only you knew I felt the same about you."

Maker, Josephine didn’t know what was more embarrassing, the blatant saccharine confession, the gentle embrace or the fact both happened in front of colleagues.

"I-"Cullen started only to be hushed by Leliana.

"Be quiet, I think I can hear Josie’s face turn red from here."

"Let me go!" the Ambassador mumbled as strictly as she could while crushed into the Qunari’s chest.

"Never," she said, resting her chin atop the black, wavy hair.


	5. Mother Knows Best...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sit down, shut up and listen to Mama Bull
> 
> (General fun with the Inquisitor, Krem and Bull)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I get a thought that isn't related to the main story so i just end up doing it

"Your Worship."

"Harel."

"Your Worship."

" **Harel."**

"Yo-"

"I’m going to fucking murder you in your sleep." 

Within the Herald’s Rest, was a plucky Qunari elf sitting face to face with one Cremisius Aclassi. The mercenary was having a great time pulling the Inquisitor’s strings, knowing full well the woman hated being called that particular title.

"Do I need to give both of you a time out?" came Bull from his usual haunt.

Harel folded her arms and turned away from Krem, "He keeps calling me that **stupid** title," she looks over to Bull who seemed far too intrigued in the fight, "Make him stop."

"The chief may have the tits for it, but he’s not my mother." Krem said, raising a tankard to his boss, "No use trying to get him in the ring."

Bull watches as Harel’s eyes stick to his overstuffed pecs, a laugh waiting to explode hanging off her lips.

"You laugh, you die," he says, narrowing his eye, then chuckling "At least I have more tits than you."

At the comment, Harel turns in her chair to face the Qunari, all laugher replaced with annoyance "Oh, so you want to be killed in your sleep too, Tal-Vashoth?"

Bull grips the arm of his chair, wood creaking as he sits up straight, "If you think your weak little hands can get through all this," puffing up his chest, he flexes every muscle in his torso, "then I say go for it."

The Inquisitor twirls back to face Krem, a noise of disgust in her tone the entire time.


	6. In High Spirits...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece of the past, a moment in the Winter Palace.
> 
> What is a coincidence?
> 
> It's when two people whose lives are connected by others end up connecting with each other.
> 
> (Yvette/Cole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cole is an angel and Yvette makes me laugh aight

Scrutiny was normal. No matter where she went or what she did, there was always someone around looking over their shoulder to make sure she didn’t run off. Her parents thought she’d grow out of this adventurous streak but lo and behold, it still clung tightly; why would this thrill-seeking part of her leave?  
  
It was what defined her, after all.  
  
Yvette made sure Josephine was nowhere nearby before she snuck off again. Her sister had yet to leave her side since she found her; most likely terrified that she was going to destroy something or embarrass some nobleman.  
  
Or somehow almost get killed. That was a speciality of hers.  
  
A gloved hand held the end of her dress up as she made her way into the Vestibule, curious about where the path would take her. Though she was fully intent on visiting the gardens again to do some sketching, Yvette had never once been to the Winter Palace before. It would be too great an opportunity to pass up if she simply stayed in one area or visited a place she’d seen already.  
  
The expansive, regal area practically begged to be explored in its entirety.  
  
A few of the nobles noticed the Antivan girl sweep past them, her gait and stride far too energetic for a skilled player of the Game.  
Yvette never really was one for the social duels of influence.  
She rathered an actual duel even though she never once lifted a sword.  
  
Chocolate coloured cheeks puffed up in a small pout as she recalled how Papa would let Laurien and Antoine play with as many knives as they wanted while she was stuck learning rhetoric and poetry.  
  
It was the worst; the thrashings she got from her mother after she went playing with Laurien's rapiers was one of the worst experiences in her life.  
  
That didn't stop her from stealing away to practice with a stick though.  
  
Quickening her pace, the young woman poked her head through the archway towards the Trophy room.  
  
Eh, nothing interesting there. It was too open and boring yet again; a few people dotted the area, not even paying any attention to the statues littered about.  
  
Turning away, Yvette gently pushed her way past some dignitaries; none of them paid her any mind as they continued gossiping and verbally backstabbing their way around the room.  
  
Marble steps caught the moonlight that trickled through the window, highlighting the fine veins of green and blue on the white surface; a deep cobalt and gold rug with plush fibres served to guide her further. The material didn’t interest Yvette very much. What caught her eye was the two stairs which branched from the landing.  
  
A mischievous smile came on her lips as she darted her eyes around the Vestibule. Everyone was alert but not paying too much attention to her; maybe she could sneak past a few prying eyes. Most of the visitors to the Palace were in the Ballroom since that’s where the Inquisitor was and wherever that horned elf went, people followed.  
They loved a good show and the Herald was playing her part miraculously so far.  
  
Yvette made her way to the steps, making sure no one was looking in her direction before speeding up the leftward staircase, her heels clicking at a rapid pace as she hurried before she could be seen.  
  
Sliding in front of the blue door, Yvette tried the handle, pulling sharply before realizing it was locked.  
  
Ugh, just great. Of course, she couldn't explore without a few adversities.  
  
Now that she had a little privacy, she could work up some well-meaning mischief.  
  
Fishing underneath her puffy hat, white-gloved fingers pinched a hairpin from her curly hair before kneeling to the door handle’s keyhole.  
  
Oh, if Josie knew she could do this, she’d have a literal fit.  
Just because Yvette was banned from lifting a sword didn't mean she could conduct other forms of delinquency. Thank the Maker for the empty halls of the Montilyet estate giving her ample doors to hone her sneaky craft.  
  
The young Antivan untucked her hat from around her ears, listening carefully through the muffled chatter of the room before inserting the pin. It was a simple lock, but Yvette was no master thief despite her practice. She'd never encountered anything more than the locks at home; this was the Winter Palace, after all, they'd have good security in a place as fancy as this. The pin was a makeshift tool at best but if she could move her hand in just the right way…  
  
The lock pins began clicking as she focused on the door, her eyes momentarily shifting away from her devious deed to check for any approaching nobles.  
  
_CAZZO!_ _  
_ _  
_ The pin snapped from the pressure of the lock, as Yvette puffed up her cheeks once again. She jiggled the handle to see if she got through before the break but alas, the door was still locked tight.  
  
The youngest Montilyet was not one to concede defeat so easily. Still kneeling, she brought a hand to retrieve another pin from her hair. She combed through her tangled tresses, gently at first, then removed the hat entirely once she found no metal obstacles bumping into her fingers. A dark waterfall of messy hair tumbled down her shoulders easily, stopping to the middle of her back with not a pin in sight.  
  
Her painted lips puckered at the annoyance. She was certain she pushed more than just one pin into her hair that evening but as she searched through her mess of black curls, she found nothing.  
  
In a small fit of rage, Yvette threw the hat down before straightening to adjust her mask.  
  
So much for that.  
  
Shaking her head, she tried to see if any unseen pins would dislodge themselves from her fluffy hair; the only result was her getting just a little dizzy.  
  
Then the lock clicked.  
**  
Maker.**  
  
Yvette jumped back then realized that the door was indeed opening. She scrambled to stand up and leave, a massive wave of panic flowing through her as she dusted her dress off and began to quickly walk away.  
**  
Her HAT!**  
  
She almost forgot her hat; damning evidence. Should she take it or leave it? No, she needed to take it, people had seen her wearing it after all.  
  
Turning back on her heel, Yvette spun to bend down and snatch the apparel.  
  
The clicking of boot heels signalled her capture.  
  
Damn, she was so close.  
  
Picking up her hat, Yvette looked at the person who caught her red-handed. At first, she meant to apologize but was caught off guard by the tunnelling nature of the stare given to her. She looked over the person; the bright red uniform of the Inquisition. The person wearing the garb seemed uncomfortable in the stiff gear.  
  
Looks like the Inquisitor wasn’t the only one who disliked the outfit.  
  
Yvette was about to say something but she was cut off as the person began talking, a worried tone blatant and unhindered.  
  
“I won’t tell anyone you were here, or what you did,” they said, “I promise.”  
  
Blonde hair, ratty and long fell past blue eyes that looked into Yvette’s mask. She didn’t hear anything about this young man prior to now; his name hadn’t been called in the introductions after all.  
  
“I thank you, good Ser,” Yvette bumbled after she remembered her voice.  
  
Though she was just about to leave, the open blue door and its secrets caught her attention. As if noticing her intrigue, the young man stepped to the side slightly, eyes unblinking and still. She could see his drawn, moping face struggle for a moment with words before he spoke again.  
  
“It’s a library. The pages tell stories, the people that touched the paper smudging ink on their fingers, fleeting, fluctuating feelings as they handle each book,” he wants to say more but the girl in front of him has a mind like a whirlwind; her emotions were bright, loud and unfettered.  
  
Brilliantly shining like the golden lion statues outside catching a torch’s flame.  
  
Yvette pushed her hair away from her face for a moment, a befuddled look staying strongly.  
Cole had tried, he really did. He tried to make his words make sense but it didn’t work. He could feel the confusion pouring off of her; his hand twitching, feeling itself rise as he was strongly tempted to make her forget this whole conversation.  
  
A laugh came belting from the Antivan, wild and untamed, it would have caught the ears of the passing nobles if she hadn’t remembered to muffle her voice with a gloved hand.  
  
“You're very strange but in a good way,” she said with a smile, her hand lowering to take the hem of her dress up into a curtsey, “I’m glad to have met you when I did,” she looked up to Cole mid-curtsey, her eyes glittering behind her mask, “It was getting so very boring in the Ballroom and Josie wasn’t being any fun.”  
  
Yvette quickly snapped upwards catching Cole by surprise for a moment; he was going to bow, as the Ambassador taught him whenever someone curtseyed but Yvette was just too fast to keep up with. He couldn’t read her emotions as clearly when they shot past, but her thoughts were rapid, delighted, nervous.  
  
Nervous.  
  
He didn’t know if it was the correct time but Harel always said a smile put people at ease.  
  
So he gave a small one, the best he could despite its forced nature.  
  
“I should introduce myself but, I’d rather not get caught here. I...think I broke the door.” the Antivan said sheepishly.  
  
She gestured towards the door before strutting past Cole who remained stock-still, trying his damndest to assess this flighty girl.  
  
She was Yvette Gabriella Montilyet, Josephine’s youngest sibling, a girl with no filter or restraint. He caught several thoughts, several memories that threatened to pull him away, all coated in the same unbridled enthusiasm the young woman showed.  
  
“Come on!” Yvette whispered, her gloved hand held out to the boy as she beckoned him into the library, “The longer you stay, the more likely we’ll be caught!”  
  
Her white and green dress almost glowed in the shadowy library, her glove reflecting a gentle light as delicate fingers reached out for Cole to take her hand.  
  
He knew that she didn’t know him but he knew her simply due to her open mind; her impulsive nature kept her bouncing on her toes, a tilt of the head and a question in her eyes asking him to follow her.  
  
She was so friendly.  
  
Was he making a friend?  
  
Slowly, he brought his hand out to hers before Yvette met him halfway, grasping his palm and yanking him forward to explore the new area.  
  
Once she pulled him in, she gave the door a little kick, shutting it and closing them off from any onlookers.  
  
Releasing her grip, the youngest Montilyet looked around the room, the vaulted ceilings stretching so high that she almost fell backwards.  
  
“I'm Yvette by the way,” she spoke as she beckoned Cole to follow her, “Yvette Gabriella Montilyet. You probably know my sister if you’re with the Inquisition,” she quickened her step once again towards a bookshelf which held various odd paperweights, “Do you know her well...erm…”  
  
Cole knew she was talking to him but she was just so _loud_ inside and out. When she brought her attention on him, he had to try and pull himself out of his head to respond, his mind still swirling from the elated memories which came bursting from the woman.  
  
“I’m Cole.” he spoke quietly, his blue eyes never once leaving the girl as he took careful steps towards her, “I know Josephine. Swiftly scratching spinning words on a page, ink splashing but never spilling as she works.”  
  
Yvette’s finger was skating down a small Halla statue, showing no signs of being perturbed even slightly by the Spirit’s odd manner of speech, “Well, Cole,” she paused, testing out the boy’s name, “That certainly sounds like Josie, always, _always_ working,” she grins at the boy, “she pretends she's just a stingy prude but she's so much more vibrant than you think. She still plays with her doll collection, you know.” there's so much mischief in Yvette's eyes as she shares the secret with Cole, knowing damn well that if Josephine found out she told someone, the diplomat would lose her mind.  
  
Bringing a hand to raise her dress up once more, the young lady walked towards the bannister overlooking the Statue room, her hat swinging in her hand to match the beat of her gait.  
  
Yvette had yet to stand still.  
  
Cole trailed behind her, the outfit halting his movements like a sheet of lumpy felt against his skin. Though it was uncomfortable, he wasn’t able to think of it for very long since Yvette kept snapping him out of his thoughts. She didn’t forget him at all, she wasn’t even trying. The visage of Cole lodged in her mind, making him real and forcing him to remain in her memory. It was like being around Varric, a person who saw him so strongly that they just willed him to forget he could make people forget.  
  
It was quite nice, actually.  
  
Black, messy curls whipped past Yvette’s shoulder as she turned her head to smile at Cole, her path was headed straight for the bannister, most likely to look-  
  
“No wait,” Cole said in a hurry, his hand outstretched, grabbing Yvette's before she could reach the stone railing, “There’s people there, they’ll see you.”  
  


The touch shocked Yvette just a bit, she wasn’t very happy with being grabbed by unknown boys out of the blue and Cole quickly released her as he felt the sharp sting of shame pierce through his chest; her emotions stabbed him for a second as guilt began to set in.  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you...I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he spluttered uncontrollably, afraid he messed up this amicable meeting irreversibly with the jolly young lady.  
  
Stepping away from the bannister, Yvette tried to catch Cole’s gaze, his head was bent low, though no hat shielded his face now, just his stringy blond hair that did little to hide his face.  
  
“You're lucky my brothers aren't here or else they'd destroy you,” Yvette said with a hint of amusement instead of anger, a tone which brought Cole out of his malaise for a moment, “Everyone knows that grabbing a lady without her permission is not very...mmm...polite.” she tilted her head again with a look of curiosity, “Are you not accustomed to the goings-on of parties?” her face flushed beneath her mask as she quickly brought her hands to cover her mouth, “I don't mean it as an insult to your status, Cole, I just…”  
  
The two fumbling kids tried their best to speak to each other properly but, being fumbling kids, they just fumbled more.  
  
The young Antivan brought her hands up in a pacifying stance, taking a deep breath before continuing again, “Look at me, stuttering like a child. I meant no offence and, judging from your reaction,” she gave a gentle wave to Cole’s puppy eyes, “you meant no harm either.”  
  
“I’m sorry if I upset you.” he spoke, his words directed to the ground instead of to the woman in front of him.  
  
A short breath of laughter met the young boy as Yvette brought her eyes to focus on Cole, her head tilting once more to try and meet his gaze. Thick hair tumbled to the side as she bent her body down, her mischievous eyes meeting Cole’s in an effort to wipe away the awkwardness.  
  
“Now that we’re on the same page and we've both embarrassed ourselves, would you tell me why you were here in the first place?” she said as she brought a gloved hand to move her hair from her face.  
  
Cole brought his head up as he felt a strained emotion pass through the young lady, her neck bending so far was causing some discomfort.  
  
Yvette followed his movement, straightening and gripping her hat in both hands with a wringing motion.  
  
He wasn’t accustomed to such intense conversations. Normally he spoke a word or two or none. Normally people would carry the chat on their own; happy that there was a listening ear to take in the words. It helped to be a vessel for speech instead of a contributor.  
  
But now he found himself spoken _with_ not at.  
  
“I…” Cole started as he tried to get his thoughts in order, the attentive, jovial look on Yvette’s face really wasn’t helping, “It’s less noisy here, people speak and slink into the shadows but their voices shout on the inside and it makes everything confusing,” he could see the confusion in the young lady’s eyes but she wasn’t looking to interject, “Secrets and sounds blend together here, bathing sweet thoughts with poison, someone lifts a blade while another lifts a glass, both with the intent to kill.”  
  
It wasn’t shock , perse, surprise yes, but not too disturbed.  
  
“So...you’re here to escape...the noise? Noble gossip is quite scathing so I can understand wanting to leave, I guess.” she tried her best to decode the Spirit’s monologue, brushing off the macabre part at the end, “You have this odd way of speaking, Cole,” Yvette said as she crossed her arms, “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not; everything sounds like a story,” an elegant hand raises in emphasis, “Don’t get me wrong, I find it far more interesting than the dull, stale fables I’ve heard since coming here.”  
  
A smile returns to Yvette, so easily gracing her features; growing as she sees Cole try to smile timidly in return.  
  
He saw her glittering eyes dart toward the bannister for a moment, looking to see if anyone was marching their way towards the Royal Library; Cole found himself trying to look past the partial darkness to find what colour eyes lay beneath the mask.  
  
Shining, sharp opals like Josephine or a different colour entirely?  
  
A hand shot him out of his thoughts once more, silken material holding tight to his pale fingers.  
  
He said something Harel would say.  
  
“You said grabbing hands is impolite.” he tried to speak with a touch of humour to his tone; catching the young Montilyet in the act.  
  
She only squeezed his hand harder, a dazzling, impish smirk spanning across her sun-kissed skin.  
  
“I said it is impolite to pull a _Lady’s_ hand,” the girl chirped before lowering her gaze away from the boy, “but if you’re uncomfortable-”  
  
“No, not at all,” came Cole, surprising himself with his sudden words, “I don’t mind.”  
  
Yvette had no hands to hide her laugh this time, her hat grasped in one and Cole’s hand in the other, she released an accented titter into the air, permeating the slightly menacing library with sounds of legitimate mirth.  
  
They could hear the sounds of music drifting through the halls and into the library, candle flames flickering and dancing to the beat.  
  
They looked at each other for once, eye contact unbroken instead of spaced out by movement, masks and blonde hair.  
  
Yvette was the first to let go, as if burned, while Cole looked, feeling a warmth, feeling a small something.  
  
Feeling something.  
  
He could feel what she felt and in a way, she could as well.  
  
It was weird and confusing, like those first few days after Haven’s destruction, a cord wrapping and pulling weakly around a Qunari elf and a human.  
  
Familiar, floating, fluttering, fleeting.  
Yvette brought her free hand to her dress’ neckline, suddenly very insecure about the plunging depth of the fabric. The silence between them was immediate and powerful, shoving the pair away as quickly as it brought them together.  
  
Yvette finally realized what she’d done; pulling herself into a private place with a young man without telling anyone of her disappearance.  
  
If Josie ever knew about this as well, she’d probably explode.  
  
Cole took a step back, feeling the discomfort falling off the Antivan as he readied himself to leave her alone; he didn’t want to upset her more than he already did.  
  
She felt things, little fluttering warm things, flights of fancy soaring in the air, waiting to be shot down. There was a thought in her mind that made him want to smile just a little, even though he didn’t understand why or how.  
  
She found him interesting but kept herself away despite her impulsive nature, a knot of hurt making itself known to him; a scorching summer in Antiva City, a confession and an embarrassing reveal to everyone in her school as a boy told everyone how she felt, denouncing her, demeaning her, denoting her.  
  
Pretty little feelings snuffed out by a wave of recollection; festering, foolish, forlorn.  
  
Cole opened his mouth as if to speak, at first, studying the crestfallen young lady’s face before closing his mouth again. He almost spoke of the memory, almost outed himself, condemned himself to a horrified expression on the Lady's face that he could read her thoughts.  
  
He clammed up, thinking, trying to find the words like when Varric asked him questions, expecting him to respond, speaking without pulling like Harel outside the tavern.  
  
“I can leave,” Cole spoke slowly, shoving as much honesty as he could into his words, assuaging, helping, healing, “I’m sorry if I upset you, I don’t mean to hurt anyone...ever, even by accident.”  
  
He plucked his own mind for those words, trying to look inwards instead of out.  
  
Trying.  
  
Yvette gave a small smile at the gentle speech, her fingers stilling from fussing over her dress’ neckline as her mind cleared, bringing that same hand to move her unmanageable hair from falling over her eyes.  
  
“Mama always said that boys break hearts,” she said with a giggle, “but you're something else.”  
  
“I’m not something else,” the Spirit replied, confusion in his eyes even as his face was blank, “I’m Cole.”  
  
It was impolite for a Lady to have her mouth open like a common gaping peasant.  
  
Yvette however, was not a regular noble, her gaping mouth staying open for a moment before catching the joke that wasn’t meant to be taken as one.  
  
Yet another laugh, brilliant and frivolous came from Yvette but this time, even more unrestrained. She brought a hand to lightly push the boy as her chuckling formed into a smile.  
  
“As I said! You’re something else indeed. So far from boring!” came the girl after her incessant chattering.  
  
And just like that, they were back together, shoving away the prior awkwardness, living in the moment yet again. Forcing Cole to remain but not in an unpleasant way.  
  
Even if he tried, he didn’t think he could disappear now.  
Not that he wanted to.  
  
It was all fun and games till a door clicked in the distance.  
  
Both Yvette and Cole froze as they listened for movement down the hall.  
  
Footsteps, tapping quietly, growing louder, jogging but not running. Before Cole could speak, he found that gloved hand pulling him away, black hair flying about as Yvette looked desperately for somewhere to hide. They could move to the Vestibule but if anyone caught the two of them leaving the same area, the gossip would be endless.  
  
Josephine would tear her apart if that happened.  
  
The young Antivan moved to pull the Spirit but found herself yanked back just a little, the boy was unmoving, standing still and calm as if they weren't on the cusp of being caught in a restricted room.  
  
“Cole-” Yvette started, her breath barely a whisper through her lipstick.  
  
“Don’t worry, Yvette,” Cole said, a smile coming on his face so as to calm the woman, “The person coming isn’t going to get us in trouble.”  
  
At first, the girl was going to comment on Cole finally saying her name but once more, he confused her. How did he know who was coming, did he plan this, was he expecting this?  
  
“I’m a rogue,” the Spirit said quickly, trying to smooth out the spikes of questions littering Yvette’s mind, “knowing footsteps and the people they belong to, tapping, traipsing against stone, is who I am.”  
  
The footsteps grew in volume but the gentle peace of Cole’s smile brought her reassurance. The thrill of being caught and running away faded into waiting.  
  
Just this once, she’d trust the strange boy.  
His hand felt warm against hers and she resisted the urge to study his scarred fingers lest she be caught staring.  
  
Jogging away from her escapades in the private section of the Royal Library, Harel came bounding forward, her white braid catching the starlight coming through the many windows of the hall.  
  
A flash of fear crossed the Qunari’s face before it switched over several times. Confusion, bewilderment, surprise, embarrassment then...comedic pride? Was that even an emotion?  
  
“Ohhhhh myyyyyyyyy,” the elf whispered far too excitedly as she drew closer to the pair, Yvette immediately releasing Cole’s hand once they were spotted, “This! I-....I’m quite literally lost on words.” there was an impossibly large smile on the woman’s face as she observed the two with far too much interest, “Cole, you sly hound!”  
  
Again, Cole looked confused. He was Cole. Why was he being called different things? 

He was _Cole_ .  
  
Turning to face the Inquisitor, Yvette did nothing to hide the deep flush on her face as she wrung her hat in her hands; a very Josephine behaviour.  
  
“Inquisitor, please don’t tell Josie! Nothing happened! I was just exploring the Palace and Cole let me into the Library!” the young woman babbled, trying her best to explain herself.  
  
“Calm down, Yvette, I won’t tell a soul,” the horned elf said with a wink, “I came here to get Cole anyways, I need him for something.” Harel folded her arms without any reprimand in her body language, “I do hope you enjoyed _exploring_ the Palace, Lady Montilyet.”  
  
A detailed mask turned to face Cole who looked unperturbed, his trust clearly placed in the Inquisitor strongly.  
  
A long sigh came from Yvette before she looked back to Harel, “I wasn’t! I-” her face flushed twice-fold as she heard the insinuation in the Qunari’s voice, “You _promise_ you won’t tell her?” Yvette pleaded, still not shaking the worry from her tone.  
  
Looks like neuroticism was a family trait too.  
  
Clasping her hands behind her back, the odd elf nodded her head, a heartfelt smile on her face, “Yvette, you have my word, honour bound. I swear I won’t tell Josephine or anyone else you were here so long as you don’t tell anyone I was here messing around in the library.”  
  
It was so genuine; Harel offering the small blackmail against herself as a means of assuaging her fears.  
  
The young Lady would never use the information given to her but it made her feel better to know that her secret was safe with someone who wasn’t looking to elevate her status in the Game.  
  
How Josie did all these verbal acrobatics, she’d never understand.  
  
“Come on, Cole,” Harel spoke to the Spirit as she moved towards the Vestibule, “We have things to thing,” she turned to Yvette, catching her attention with a grin, “You should go back to the Ballroom too, you know, before I hear the stamping of an Antivan diplomat heading this way.”  
  
Yvette looked at the young man, his face cloaked in shadows as he moved, shifting from a quiet boy to a teammate of the Inquisitor within a flash.  
  
A smile came on his face again as he looked away while Harel jabbed him in his chest playfully with curious remarks as to what he was doing there with the youngest Montilyet.  
  
Bunching up her hair, Yvette fitted the hat over her curls, straightening the fabric before following the pair towards the Vestibule.  
  
Though they differed greatly, Harel and Cole were quite close; reacting to each other like an older sister pestering her shy little brother.  
  
A tepid day in Antiva came to mind, a boring schoolhouse memory, a starchy dress uniform against her skin as she was forced to recall words to the headmistress, unable to speak as she couldn’t provide an answer to the question.  
_  
_ _What is a coincidence?_  
  
As she rushed forward to stand next to Cole, she finally had an answer that would have spared her hands from the teacher’s ruler.  
  
_A coincidence is the fact that my sister is seeing the Inquisitor as I just so happen to meet her adopted brother._ _  
_ _  
_ It was a silly thought but, the world needed some silliness every now and then.

* * *

It didn’t make sense.  
  
Why couldn’t people just help each other? Why was everyone always out to hurt others? How did no one see that everything would hurt less if they just stopped hurting?  
  
Cole stood next to a table as people walked around him; he nearly got trodden on several times after no one realized he was there. It was loud, even after the Empress was saved, even after Orlais stood to gain more than it lost. Everything was solved yet everything still trembled, cracks in the foundation running up the pillar threatening to make the Empire crumble. They kept pushing glue into the cracks, they kept trying to salvage a world that ran on cruelty and yet, somehow it worked.  
  
Somehow living to hurt, harm and hinder helped.  
  
It confused him, saddened him, upset him.  
  
Cole lowered his head, missing his hat as he looked over the crowd, their thoughts piling one on top the other, buzzing in his ear, so many people looking for succour, so many looking for gain or redemption.  
  
“You’ve returned!” came a voice from in front of him, surprising him fully as he felt arms wrap around the itchy fabric of his coat.  
  
Lady Yvette, who once felt embarrassed at the thought of being alone with Cole now held him in a brief hug. Nobles gawked at the sight ever so slightly, weaving new strands of gossip about the youngest Montilyet and the Spirit. He felt the thought in her mind; it was better if people caught them here than returning from a dark, secluded place together. The innocence of the moment now held less depravity than the former in regards to rumours.  
  
Unlacing herself from the young man, Yvette wore a big grin on her face; with her hat back on, it was hard to tell her apart from the rest of the crowd. Cole could tell it was her though, the warmth of her person, the sparkling thoughts in her mind like a transparent pool of water.  
  
She was like an oasis in this desert of clamouring nobles.  
  
White gloved hands clasped together, rubbing and wringing as a question formed on the young woman’s mind. Yvette was so alive, so real, that he felt himself becoming more yet again.  
  
He didn’t realize the gossiping nobles forgot their rumours mid-hug, only to notice the young man again. Stuttering forgetfulness came over the crowd as Yvette pulled him back into the world.  
  
How did she see him when no one else did?

The questions continued swirling in Yvette’s head and Cole had to bite his lip to stop the words from vocalizing. Varric had told him people were probably angry at him sometimes because he kept making their thoughts public; control was needed, control was necessary if he wanted to do more good than harm.  
  
“Josie is outside with the Inquisitor,” Yvette said sweetly, “So she isn’t here to hover over me like a shadow for once.”  
  
A giggle, innocent and kind came from the young lady.   
  
Maybe he could be more than just a placeholder for empty space. Maybe he could act instead of guide, do instead of wait.  
Maybe.  
Instead of hunching over, the Spirit straightened himself, squaring his shoulders and raising his gaze to something more confident.  
  
Two nobles showed him a scene while he had waited by the table; how to react and perform this plan to perfection.  
  
He would answer her.  
  
“Lady Montilyet,” Cole spoke, trying his best to hide the shaking in his voice, “Would you like to dance with me?”  
  
His hand came out towards the young Antivan, shaking slightly, afraid that he would upset her again even though he knew she wanted to dance.  
  
He wanted to tread lightly, especially after that sharp stab of disquiet in the library; the memory of a mean boy breaking her heart still playing in his mind.  
  
A tempest was the best way to describe Yvette Montilyet in daily circumstances. She was often a wild, flighty thing, prone to mischief and trouble.  
  
Now, however, the family resemblance to Josephine came out.  
  
A measured response, a gloved hand slipping into Cole’s, a small smile, tempered yet coy as she quietly agreed to the offer with a small nod.  
  
Though Cole knew nothing of dancing, he tried his best to push down that thought as Yvette guided them down the stairs to the dancefloor.  
  
Vivienne’s eyes were on the pair as they stepped down the stairs, at first hand in hand, then interlocked at the elbows. The Enchantress said nothing, then her eyes looked elsewhere; forgetfulness sweeping over the frigid mage within an instant.  
  
Though Harel wasn’t keen on him making everyone forget, sometimes, some things would hurt far more if they remained. Not now, he couldn’t have anything happen now.  
  
They found themselves in the middle of the dancefloor as the boy froze up, unsure of how to move or what to do. A giggle met his ears as the young noble took his hand and placed it on her waist while she placed her own hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Just follow me,” Yvette said as she began the dance slowly, far, far slower than any of the other participants, “You’ll be a fantastic dancer before you know it, Cole.”  
  
It was an impossibly slow dance that didn’t meet the beat of the music at all; punctuated by Cole stepping on Yvette’s feet far too many times. A silly dance performed by two silly young people, both learning the steps to a dance already being performed on a nearby balcony by a Qunari and a diplomat.  
  
For once, Cole didn’t hear anyone, his mind was quiet as he danced with Yvette.  
  
All he heard was her thoughts, and soon, not even that.  
  
Just her laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reaaaaaaaaaaaaading <3


	7. I Heard Your Voice and Continue to Listen...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even if you can't remember my name
> 
> (Yvette/Cole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My back hurts from carrying this ship

It was different than the letter Cassandra’s uncle had written. His letter was complex yet subtle and honest. He missed her, so much so that it permeated off the page when it first brushed his hand.

Cole wasn’t snooping, he was just doing as he normally did, following the various pains that ran like a tangle of yarn all across Skyhold. When one strand was followed and fixed, another appeared. Then another. And another.

The work was never-ending, a dagger in a barrel, a plum on the windowsill, turnips in the fire. 

The number of tasks never bothered him. Why should it?

Skyhold was cold at night, something he realized while draping a blanket over a tired guard. It was also quiet, people’s pain moved up and down like ocean waves, plunged deep into themselves to spare them the hurt or hovering right above their expression as if pinned to their sleeve. 

Semi-gloved hands ran along the stones the Keep’s Main Hall, each of his fingers skating over some crack in the wall, each feeling the breath of people who’ve passed by both living and dead.

Older, dead and gone pains are harder to see and he’s been told countless times by Harel and Solas that those are the type of problems that couldn’t be fixed.

Don’t let it upset you, unfortunately, some dilemmas have expiry dates, not everyone can be helped. 

He moves like a person, slow in his gait, his red-rimmed eyes staring at the empty hall. 

There are songs in different tongues in his mind, trying to show him the Skyhold of old but he just can’t quite…

Cole doesn’t know where he is, only that he moves, only that he walks until he’s perched on the Ambassador’s desk, his boots careful not to scuff her documents. 

There is no one there but Cole, he’s shrouded in darkness, the fireplace long extinguished. His hand runs along the wood, performing a motion he’s done before, only doing so when he feels _it._

Even through the heavy furniture, the sunlight of the letter is warm against his skin. 

The words are loud enough to scream through its wooden casing, the writing is pure, unhindered, unburdened.

The emotions are strong within the parchment as he can see, easily, a young girl at a writing desk, quill endlessly flipping in her fingers, splattering ink on her charcoal dusted desk. 

It’s as if he’s there, looking at her, her hair unbound in a mess of long curls with one captured between her fingers. 

And she looks to her window, towards the sea, and Cole sees her fully, her eyes, not grey, but a bluish-brown. She bears a striking resemblance to her eldest sibling but her face is different; her lips are fuller, her eyes, sharper. 

The girl throws her pen down and he can see just barely what she was writing.

A drawing, unfinished but still professional, of a faceless man wearing finery. The only detail she has fully completed were the eyes; moping and knowledgable with blue ink highlighting the irises. 

Cole resurfaces, his face blank but his mind swirling with a variety of thoughts and still reeling from the whirlwind of untamed _life_ that is Yvette Montilyet. 

He smiles, happy that she’s doing well, happy that she remains happy.

His legs straighten as he stands, hat and darkness hiding his small grin. 

The Spirit disappears into the night, leaving Josephine’s desk unscathed, undisturbed. 

Cole can hold a pen but he’ll ask Varric to teach him; one day he’ll write to her. 

One day. 

And she’ll remember him again, fully.

Even in pieces, she still brought him to life, a Spirit recalled not as a wisp, but as a boy. 


	8. When the Night is Cold...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just find someone to hold
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Little spoon becomes the Big spoon
> 
> forgive the terrible rhyme, please put down that tomato. Hey. I said. HEY PUT IT DOWN _*gets hit with a tomato*_
> 
> Yall really are something else. 
> 
> Here, take this fluff and get out of my fucking house.

It was the 3rd hour when Josephine awoke. Yes, she was an early riser but never so early; the curse of a light sleeper perhaps. At first, the diplomat snuggled back into the bed, all too willing to go back to sleep before she realized what roused her in the first place. 

The bed had a slight tremor to it and her blanket kept moving. Odd.

Josephine tried to peer at the other side of the bed through the darkness; it was a moonless night, unfortunately. Carefully shifting on her side, she reached her hand out towards Harel, placing her palm against the horned elf’s back before putting two and two together. 

Harel was shaking up quite a bit in her sleep. Josephine’s mind immediately went to the anxious space it usually lingered in as she began to sit upwards to better see the Qunari. 

The mage was a pitiful sight; curled into a ball under the blanket, her arms hugging herself as she shivered uncontrollably. At first, Josephine thought it was a nightmare or maybe the Anchor but she didn’t see the fetid glow of the Mark. The trembling continued until an easy explanation made itself clear. 

The Inquisitor, born and raised in warmer climes, was simply feeling cold. 

There was an inward sigh of relief from the Ambassador who was just glad tonight’s mystery wasn’t one of the more upsetting ones she had to face. Josephine scooted closer to Harel as she pressed herself against the Qunari’s back, burying her face in skin that smelled of Arbor Blessing. Harel had yet to stop shivering which was easily remedied by Josephine sliding her arms around the balled-up Qunari, placing warm palms on grey arms and squeezing lightly as if testing the muscle.

Normally the plucky Inquisitor was the one doing the holding; not everything was set in stone, however. As each second passed, Harel’s shivering faded; her body finally relaxing as the warm body against her’s refused to move. Involuntarily, the horned woman’s form stretched out from her bunched position, finally warm enough to straighten out those long legs. Josephine snuggled into her new position all too happily, her heart picking up pace as she felt the tall elf in her arms lean into her. Though vision was near-impossible in the thick darkness, Josephine felt her mind discard her need for propriety in the pitch-black comfort of their quarters. 

Hitching her leg up, the Antivan hooked her knee around Harel’s leg, completely and fully embracing the sleeping Inquisitor. It was truly never too late in the night for a cuddle, surely, especially when it was necessary. 

Yes, that’s what Josephine told herself as she held Harel tighter. She was simply helping the poor dear escape the cold; any rewards reaped after the fact were purely coincidental. 

There was a small smile on the Antivan woman’s face as she brushed her hand up and down the Qunari’s arm, her fingers lingering over little scars each with their own story. Josephine felt her eyes closing, fluttering eyelashes soon became fully closed as she lay against Harel, perfectly safe and delightfully warm. 

“MMmmmmm,”

Just as she was about to sleep too. 

“MmmmJosie?” Harel came again, her voice breaking from the underuse, “Josie?”

Trailing her hand up once again, Josephine gave a light squeeze to Harel’s shoulder before speaking, “Yes, my love?”

“It’s too hot and I can't move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	9. She's Doing What?...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again?
> 
> (Inquisitor/Josephine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the great fortune of seeing the Andrastini video where Leliana sings like a Prayer followed by me consuming the song Rasputin. I was in a great mood. Still am. Hope you enjoy this itty bitty bit of fun.
> 
> please do me a favour and imagine the songs in your head while reading this. 
> 
> I love having characters interact with each other. 
> 
> Also, Skyhold cant be all doom and gloom, gotta have some fun. Gotta Sera that shit up.

The Inquisitor was not normal. Everyone had been given time to acclimatize to her behaviour; Sera number 2 as people often called her. There were obvious ways in which they differed, of course. First of all, the Inquisitor wasn’t as disrespectful. Secondly, Harel could do something Sera wished she could, but couldn’t.

The Advisors, called to a War Meeting once again, filed into the broken hallway, dodging the cold breeze that filtered through the crumbling wall. Josephine and Leliana stood closely together, discussing some matter of politics or shared task.

Cullen, on the other hand, remained as quiet as usual, his hand passing nervously over his hair to ensure the curls were at maximum stylishness. A dollop of pomade would continue to be the theory he told everyone. A smirk lit the normally serious Commanders face. None shall know his hairstyling secrets. 

And from its place on his head, Cullen’s hand flew down to his sword pommel as a loud thump came from the War Room. Leliana didn’t let his jumpiness slip.

“Well, I am _certainly_ glad we have a brave knight here to slay the dreaded door,” she quipped, causing Josephine to hide a giggle beneath her hand.

Much like a Mabari’s ears flatten at being scolded, so too did Cullen’s expression turn. He began sputtering, trying to get the attention off of him but alas, he failed.

“Oh, _brave_ knight,” Josephine started, trying her best not to let the laughter overcome her, “M-may I gift upon you, a favour, should you slay the table destroying our precious farmla-” she had withdrawn a handkerchief from her pocket, only to falter her speech midway, finally doubling over slightly in laughter, using the cloth to suppress her giggles.

“You two are... _tch_.” the Commander tuts, his face sullen as he’s lovingly picked on by the two Advisors.

Another thump comes from the War Room. 

Cullen’s dour expression turns, lighting up in wary curiosity, “I’m not just hearing things? Am I?” he says, his brows furrowing, “There’s something going on in there,” he moves to draw his sword, “The Inquisitor could be in trouble.”  
  


Leliana is as quick as her sharp eyes are perceptive, grabbing Cullen’s hand before it scrapes against its scabbard, “There is no need,” she says with a playful smile, “Our Inquisitor is more than fine.”

The three stand outside the War Room as another thump comes from within, followed by two more and a string of Elvhen curses.

“Perfectly fine,” Leliana repeats, her hand moving from the Commanders to press lightly against the door.

Josephine, in all her inquisitive splendour, couldn’t help but be dreadfully curious as to what was happening in the War Room, something Leliana had yet to speak of. 

Harel was not the secretive type, her love was an open book and Josephine, a prolific reader. Even so, everyone had the right to bear their little unspoken things, regardless of how painfully interesting they may be. 

And as data collection was one of her more minor duties, Josephine still felt the urge to know things pressing her with a near pummeling force.

“Leli,” Josephine says, leaning into the Spymaster, “What is she doing?”

Instead of speaking, Leliana puts a finger up to her lips, her blue eyes alight with mischief, a memory of a younger, impish Orlesian came blasting through the cold shell of the current Spymaster.

From behind the pair, the slight shuffle of armour makes itself known, causing both ladies to turn in synchronicity to give an incredulous look to the Commander. He stares like a pup, eyes big with interest as he tries his best to lessen the clinking metal.

Leliana silently beckons him forward, her eyes wide in exasperation as he takes a few steps forward, a few _loud_ steps. He huddles in closely, far closer than he’s ever been to the ladies and focuses his attention to the seam of the door as Leliana pushes it open.

Through the small crack, they can all see Harel, in the space the Advisors normally stood, spinning like an out-of-control top. The window was open and the faintest sounds of music from the tavern could be heard. The Qunari elf leapt around, a thump following her landing as she danced in reckless abandon. Her style was an odd combination of lustful Rivaini swaying and formless, laughable Ferelden jigs. 

Cullen sputtered, causing a gloved hand and a tawny hand to clap over his mouth in alarm. 

Harel remained unperturbed as she hopped around the War Room like a Halla in heat, her hips moving, arms flailing, eyes closed, lips parted singing softly. Josephine’s eyes go wide as the horned woman bends forward, lashing her braid in a full circle before her hips follow the movement. 

_Maker’s bloody breath._

Sweat begins to shine on her grey skin, her forehead slick and white hair, damp. She gets up on her tiptoes before completing yet another few spins, bending forward to the area where Josephine would be, her hand outstretched.

“Would you have this dance, My Lady?” Harel whispers before her face scrunches in confusion, “Wait no, will you dance with me? Would you have to dance? Fuckin’ common tongue.” 

And at once, to everyone’s surprise, she begins a ballroom dance, her moves matching the beat of the music as she holds her invisible dance partner. She sweeps around the 'ballroom' and Cullen tries, he _really_ tries, not to laugh.

It’s helped by the fact there were still two hands over his mouth. 

“Dearest Josephine, you are a splendid dancer,” the Qunari elf speaks into the air, “Ah yes, Wycome indeed robbed me of fuckin’ class but I can still move!”

There’s a poorly hidden smile on Josephine’s face as she watches Harel spin around, her cheeks alight with a flush as she tried to suppress a small laugh. What a funny little soul her Herald was. 

He’s intrigued, the Honnleath man, as he leans in to try and see better.

This causes the door to open wide, a resounding creak echoing through the War Room. Not that anyone heard the squeaking hinges over the sound of Leliana and Josephine groaning and chastising Cullen. 

All the lustrous grey faded from Harel’s skin as she let her arms drop at once; her skin ashen in embarrassment. 

“S-shanedan, my Antaam,” she sputters, trying to change the subject, “That means hi and body, like a group of warriors…” she stands straight, moving quickly from her place at the War Table, “I mean, we have a Ben-Hassrath and an Ashkaari but no one needs…”

Harel sighs as she looks away, green eyes stuck to the floor as the Advisors walk in, “How much did you see?”

“Oh,” Josephine says with a smile, walking forward quickly, her hand coming up to brush against Harel’s shoulder, “We only just arrived.”

“She’s lying.” Leliana said mid-cough, “We saw everything,” again poorly disguised behind a few coughs, “Who said that?” she finishes, feigning ignorance as she walks towards her usual spot. 

Harel’s face immediately scrunches up in embarrassment, her face for once, another colour, reddening as much as her grey skin would allow. 

“Quite a skill you've got there, Inquisitor,” Cullen mutters as he walks past her, patting her shoulder before trundling off to his spot.

“Will you shut your fuck? Hmmmm????” Harel retorts, her eyes wide and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Now Harel, my love, my darling little Halla,” Josephine speak just a little too sweetly, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with dancing alone,” her hand is still light in its touch, avoiding the droplets of sweat, “It is a perfectly acceptable means of expressing oneself, something you have done with… an...enviable...amount of energy.”

Harel’s ears flatten as her mood sours just a little, “Love the way you took a pause there, Josie,” the Qunari elf crosses her arms, ignoring the music from the window, “Real show of support you are.”

Josephine pulls the Inquisitor’s shoulder just a little, beckoning her to walk in tandem. There’s a small pout from the Antivan which shakes Harel’s bad mood just a little.

“If you wanted to dance with me, you could always ask,” she brings up a tawny hand to pinch Harel’s cheek, “I am certainly agreeable to it. Remember Halamshiral?” the pinch turns into a soft patting, “I would have no qualms.”

The embarrassed elf thinks, her eyes darting all over the War Room before she steps away from Josephine, spinning away before she stops, wobbling slightly, her hand outstretched, “Dance with me, Lady Montilyet?”

A small laugh escapes Josephine as she slips her hand into Harel’s; the Qunari elf immediately presses their bodies together far closer than a waltz or a public event would allow.

“I suppose the reports can wait,” Cullen says quietly to Leliana as he watches the pair spin around the War Room, his eyes flicking to the map,” Did you know Lake Calenhad looks like a bunny?”

The Spymaster gives a hum of approval as she watches Harel sloppily and quickly dance with the Ambassador, bracing her legs to the ground before lifting her up in one quick motion. Harel spins her, carefully, laughing the whole time while Josephine latched onto the odd half-breed, ignoring the sweat pouring off the Inquisitor. 

“This would make it the fifth time I’ve caught her doing this,” Leliana whispers to Cullen as Josephine begs to be put down, “You’d think by now she’d choose somewhere other than the War Room to do this.”

The Advisors watch as Josephine is placed down with care, encircled in Harel’s arms as she tries to regain her balance, listing to the side ever so slightly; her hair in a right mess. 

“I don’t know,” Cullen starts, a smile on his face, “I think this room could benefit from a little Rivani dancing.”

Leliana doesn’t respond at first, a small huff of laughter escaping from beneath her hood. She steps to the side, elbowing Cullen a little, drawing a small exclamation from the Commander that’s drowned under Josephine’s and Harel’s joyous banter.

“Don’t be a lecher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this.  
> That whole thing with the favour was me thinking of that scene in Shrek. Yall know the one. 
> 
> Headcannon: Josephine and Leliana are the older sisters that torment their little brother Cullen

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and i love you all  
> If you don't hear from me then don't worry, I'll be back...soon...lol...life and my mental health is making sure I rue the day I set foot on this dying earth <3


End file.
